Drew-Baker.Net :: Photography, Music, Production, & Words
royal we

wayward winds blow. winters steeped in snow,
a hundred degrees in the shade.
we’re both buried and no one knows.
stale words on windows written in steam as they froze.
a thousand letters are better made
to collect dust and decompose.

stopped at stones throw, we are dumbstruck slow.
a thousand bits of debris our way:
execution, a public show.
usurping the throne, undermining all they’ve known.
a million sheets of slate
to rape us: the ebb and flow.

this one is for all those who need a little sympathy.
we restore our missing faith in humanity:
the royal we.

let’s step outside and light a signal flare.
skies are fair for pigeons flying. they’re carriers.
spare our lives, so dim and murky.
we will still be here searching for a way home.

this one is for all those who lead a bitter symphony.
keep indoors conducting notes of apathy.
the royal we.

let’s step outside and find some better air.
we are scared like children crying. they’re just now
aware of time, so short and hurting.
we will still be here learning we should stay home.

watch as storms show a hint of laying low.
a thousand degrees separate
us but what do we really know?
whispers on windows
watching terms that we chose
a hundred moments dissipate
but we can’t let the window close.

this one is for all those who need a little sympathy.
we restore our missing faith in humanity:
the royal we.

in the shadow of a biased sun (binary star)

we’re a binary star.
your overexposure washed out
any and all possible visibility
to see where we are,
to gain our composure, walking out
and taking the atmosphere with me.

i am about to implode against the night sky
as fireworks not working. a spark ignites.
nothing changes but i die inside.
quietly i vanish out of mind and out of sight.

i can handle no more
of attachments to you
but we’re fused at the core,
magnetized at the foundation.
these cycles are worn.
they’ll be burning out soon.
space’s fabric is torn.
somehow we’ll meet again.

it’s time we discard,
marking the closure, crossed out
any and all possible continuity.
a needed recharge.
all of it’s over, blocking out
and dissolving molecules between.

okay, mantis

at some point, i recall backyards
the clouds carried faces and first names.
there was so much meant to be
and what all it meant to me.
everything seen intently.
so just go. for hours, i’d stay in dreams.

deadweight waited.
i fear we are
expired and outdated.
an alarm
misplaced and jaded,
it’s absent charm.
stalemate sedated
shots in arms.
flashlight elated,
our eyes charred.
facts straight,
we’re baited.
life in
a jar.

remember joining cardboard boxcars,
a solid fortress, just the place to play.
maybe that’s where i’m meant to be
where that is solely bracing me.
innocence ending instantly.
and i suppose, for days, i escape in my dreams.

we kept fate still slated,
scribed in the stars.
exclaimed. debated.
we’re changing arms.
about-face misstated:
fired. discharged.
all the data within,
catalogued and dated.
this is my
life in
a jar.


i think i’m waiting for something to happen.
i think i’m waiting for the next trains to collide.
i think i’m waiting for an impending end, suspending motivation.
i think we’re expecting a surprise.

don’t wait up.
don’t hold your breath for too long
or else your chest caves in.
don’t stay up.
don’t count to ten till i’m gone,
a bloody mess worn thin.

i think i’m blaming the tracks for inaction.
i think i’m taking all the wrong steps toward the line.
i think i’m hanging from the platform’s edge, tendons torn in places
that remind me that i am still alive.

question air

would it be safe to say that your real face could crack a mirror?
would it be safe to stay at a distance now?
would it safe to classify you as bad luck?
you’re an omen.
home went to hell.

would it be best to bet that your siren voice will be drawing me nearer?
would it best to bet i won’t ask you how?
would it best to classify me as bad luck?
i’m a sucker,
showing my tells.

we’re almost gone.

you’re like kryptonite to a superhero,
an eagle to an engine on a plane,
acid raining on fields of grain
of salt on snails straining.
we maintain.

how would to see the scars that you’ve grown?
could you reach up and stab the stars? who knows?
would you concede please you’re a poor excuse for a human being?
would you just curl up and die?

we’re almost gone.

would it be bad to ask if i could be any possibly clearer?
would it be bad to ask if i’m twisted sound?
would it be bad to call you and for once say
good luck motherfucker.
see you in hell.

the moon inside

lately, the moon has shined
ever so effervescently
while nights are winding down
now i’m wound up with how
dim the day will be.
we could be just passing out.
maybe we should to take the time
to each have our epiphanies
and we can read the clouds
aloud or with furrowed, scowled brows
in silence. watch the moon with me.
we could be just masking doubt.
never falter.
we could be just making out
like bandits stealing sky.

lately, this lake has dried
these droughts ache indefinitely.
the cracks will break the ground.
the sound will echo and pound
throughout attempted sleep.
we could be just lashing out.
maybe we content the mind
always artificially.
we let the smoke enshroud,
vowed to overlook profound
feelings we feign aren’t there.
we could be just crossing out
days too wasted.
we could be just faking routes
while bypassing a vivid sky.
postman, afterthought

if it’s all right
for me to say to you,
pick up the pen.
pleas write, sign,
fold and kiss the glue.
can be at the core of you,
the cure for you,
a paper trail for where you are
and where to send rescue.

if you’d just extend your hand,
we’ll be coming to get you.
if you’d let us understand,
correct that which upsets you.
scream (out), out (reach)
knuckles white like frozen bones,
a message to get to you
while (i), i (sit)
and recall all the good times,
a message left with no home.

i wish it’s all right
for you to carry through.
keep up your head, in sight,
signs hold it in plain view.
can be the calm of you.
it’s all on you.
a paper trail for where you are
and all you think you knew.

it must be
a rabid dog
keeping mailboxes empty.
it must be
that office shots were fired.
it must be
neither rain or heavy sleet or snow
to catch the engine freezing.
it must be
the mailman’s a liar.

buffalo at the century club

it’s skeletal, the frame off which our skin hangs,
hanging over corpse-like mornings, throats enclosed by snoring,
closing up battered, broken eyes. it’s been so long since i felt right
at times when i’m not sleeping, we’re creeping up on a time to die.

porcelain shakes like fault line tones
when earths quake kidney rocks to stones.
and these days, we meet a match’s make:
too dry, we light ourselves at stakes.

it’s pivotal, the point of view will kill change
rearranging store bought morals, stories told in floral
metaphors carved in marble lines. we seemed so strong since we felt right
at times when we’re not speaking with spirits we’ve only personified.

(thinking that they’re the divine)

flesh will break. the blood will flow
when intakes become overgrown.
and these days, we meet the kindling’s wake:
too dry, designed our own mistakes.

when the water dries, fractured ribs aside,
the tears aren’t seeping because they’re so far gone
as a new dawn falling down and around almost everything.
we’ve lost it all.
where the ailing die, ruptured veins untied,
leave the people weeping while they sing your song.
they’ll say that he or she, at some point, just began to stop believing
and how much was the cost of it all.

our organs scrape, while they’re dragging low
as sores gape. we’re just overflow.
so i’ll tape but our wounds won’t close,
too dry, we rehydrate.

it’s critical, the final stage lives maintain,
straining over ground we’re gaining, livers busy draining,
soaking up all that we can find. there’s no bond since we felt right
at times when we weren’t sinking. that time is up as we subside.
the weight of a requiem mass

patiently, vultures are watching us writhe,
tied between the dunes,
doomed and dying under a desert fire
as the fire ants begin to eat us alive.
mistakenly, we are staked to the sand, dried
insides just like the flames,
rain and embers thunder like a spiteful choir
in these dire states. envious, we collide.

come on. sit down.
relax and just keep yourself warm.
lamenting all we are
and all that we’ll never be.
come in. recline.
kick back and make yourself home.
inventing all we are
and all we will believe.

you see, this is only wishful thinking.
like finding magic lamps, mirages in a sea of dirt.
i want to hide in our oasis
as we eventually become one with scorched earth.
i leave every part of me behind you,
dissolving into dust, to ash we turn.
no way to differentiate the cinders.
i think you will like me being you.

brazenly, vultures are saying our goodbyes.
our time has been consumed,
entombed and prying out of a desert pyre.
we expire no matter how much we strive.
awakening, ruptured by thousands of flies,
our disguise fading away,
say we are the same as the blaze grows higher.
these conspired fates our jealousy divides.

revenge is a dish best served with a bottle of whiskey and a colt .45

she sits at the side of the road.
she sits in misguided hopeful waiting.
she there always contemplating why
she sits there hating everything.
she sits until she explodes.
she sits until frozen blood is raging.
she sits there, planning engaging right.
she sits there staging everything.

she’ll find the ones that will know.
she’ll find the ones that will need unveiling.
she’ll find the ones that will need impaling because
she’ll find herself nailing them to the trees.
she’ll find their bodies below.
she’ll find she burns them and starts inhaling.
she’ll find she watches their limbs stop flailing wildly.
she’ll find their ailing makes her smile.

she is thinking clearly now. her blades are sharpened.
she’s suffered at their hands for too long.
she’s tasting vengeance. how bittersweet it is.
she’s coming quickly to right their wrongs.

she cuts the lines on the phones.
she kills the lights, sending people pacing.
she pierces darkness and people facing her.
she stabs at almost everything.
she cuts through the unknown.
she kills the lungs, promptly erasing them.
she carves herself cathartically clean.


you and i crawling home,
indifferent states’
borders we try to climb.
just don’t leave me alone,
lying helpless to help you.
limbs are chopped to the bone
through different plates
in order we try to find
our parts to be sewn
back together.

at a severed arm’s length,
the strength has been diminished,
ground and finished,
with not a silver lining in the sky.
amputee, lend me a hand.
if you had legs, i’d say stand with me.
we’re paralyzed.

if we run on our own
at listless rates,
shorter our lives decline.
i can’t see all that we’re shown,
lying sightless to write you.
gaps in marrow have grown,
expired dates,
older we try to mime.
we turning to stone
all together.
maybe we may be

an alarm clock screams noon.
soon enough, but possibly later.
possibly not at all.
don’t even bother calling me,
i’ll call you if i come around
or if i come to or if i wake up,
make no mistake,
it’s on my list of things to do.

ignoring every phone ring.
underscoring all the scorning.
i race around the baselines,
a futile game i don’t mind not playing.
the count is tallied on the ceiling.
i have nothing, losing feeling.
i face a waste of my time.
just maybe i’ll play one of these days.

an alarm clock sing tunes
sweet enough but possibly bitter.
possibly in caustic drawl.
it is all appalling me.
it’s all subdued. if i keep it down
or if i keep to a place i don’t wake up,
make no mistake,
it’s being pushed through for review.

these days are latching onto me with fingers
apt at catching
like spider webs blessed with diamond eyes.
dexterity precise.
still stuck in the same rut but now the advantage
goes to what we define
as opponents.
let us own our apathy.
this is my helicopter

all aboard. the engines on.
start the propeller. move along
off the ground. i can see down below:
the people swarm as ants march on,
the cars are matchbox on the lawn.
take a good gaze around.

hope we have enough gas.
hope we have a future.
hope we make it
across the continents that we pass.

almost there or so i’m told.
watch the world from window holes.
there’s downtown. maybe it will explode.
the streets run wild. our pilot shot.
i hold the pistol, gave away the plot
and we’re spiraling. we will be unwound.

i think i smell smoke.
i think i hear something broken.
i think i sense a stroke approaching.
and i think i, again, am flying blind.

arterial is in the nature of the wreckage,
an aspect of the pains and it remains
bacterial, creating motion in the sickness,
constriction of the veins.
an analogy.

always near but always cold
like our bodies when they’re pulled
from where they’re found off a discarded road.
rubble warm. the crops are charred.
we burning in your front yard,
admiring the underground.

i think i see smoke.
i think i taste something sulfur.
i think i felt you choke, but it’s over.
and i think i, again, am a dying sign.

i’d like to thank you for riding my airlines.
i hope it’s been a pleasant flight and enjoy your stay.
if i may, please come again if we happen to survive.
we have a black hawk down.
a series of sentence fragments

a page all covered in you.
like the journal of a madman
who can’t understand
how things come to work.
scratching, matching
like sounding words.
adding verbs to verbs.
adjectives just like this
to improperly describe you.

this notebook once new.
inked in scribblings of a madman
who can’t diagram
how things come unnerved.
etching, sketching
blue prints and drafts,
schematics and maps.
outlines just like this
to characterize you.

a phrase we know.
a feeling we are slowing.
a notion the pen is dead.
a vigil for syllables said.
how apropos.
a fitting end is showing.
a devotion to things misread.
a vacant page instead.

now a break in the glue.
written ramblings of a madman
who can’t make a plan.
escaping the ones that hurt.
writing, hiding
behind the cover of the spiral bound.
found college ruled just like this.
and i will illustrate you.

and so it goes…

so it goes, this world of mine:
the living bled of a spine.
these chords are all i have.
i’m draped in fear. the shadows find.
me with my fragile mind,
dying blind and so it goes….

in the middle of the night,
in a corner where the world can’t see through.
an indelible fright,
a heart attack might be the thing that saves you.
we don’t know who we are.
we don’t know anything.
moving along haphazardly,
ask the questions
that we’ve already answered.

so it goes, this nightmarish ride.
seething red, we’re dead inside.
these words are all i have.
drenched in sweat, devoid of pride,
clench the dark, avoid the bight,
dying blind and so it goes…

another miserable flight,
to the couch but coming from your bedroom.
ever ready to ignite,
set on fire a world that doesn’t seem to need you.
we can burn anyone.
we can burn anything.
plodding along unconsciously,
chant the chorus
but the refrain is already answered.

in the middle of the night,
in a prison with no windows we can see through.
an indiscernible light,
cataracts might be the thing that saves you.
we can’t see who we are.
we can’t see anything.
planning our own insanity,
invite the voices.
our questions they’ve already answered.

we’re holding onto our last breath.
we’re sleeping next to death
and napping comfortably.
just let me live in peace
or in pieces in places
i’ve only seen in my mind
and i’m so tired of being awake.
one in vermillion

there’s a stutter in the twilight,
a stammer in their speech,
leaching onto glasses,
imbibing disbelief
that they could find
each other at the bottom.
somehow cups are always full.
talk intoxication
dialogue never in control.
the end of times.
they sit alone
holding their own
hearts in their hands
and their heads in their palms.
if anything is left of him,
it might only be this song
and like the wine,
every story has a closing.
every glass eventually breaks.
burst veins are cracked and bleeding.
drink up, it’s getting late.
time to beat the sky.
the wind, it breathes
like whispers of leaves
rustling with goodbyes
and sighs of relief.
they’ll be sleeping in a bottle
and drowning underneath.
time to lie down.

her lips were of ruby red.
in the early morning,
they could wake up blue instead.
behind a cellar door,
choking on metaphors
like victims at the gallows
but with that bottle in hand.
they’re ruby red.
they’re ruby red.
their thirst was a compulsion,
drinking a disguise
masking their consumption,
but he was drinking in her eyes.
they’re ruby red.
they’re ruby red.
they words were colored sanguine.
she sounded like bordeaux.
wash away the context,
how he died he’ll never know..
they’re ruby red.

king takes the rook

stop stalling. hurry up and wait your turn.
movement like molasses, having troubles discerning
one apart from the other, their limitations to learn.
one square at a time, they’re falling in line,
faceless without a clue.

you see it in black and white no matter how i color it.
pixilate the playing field now and let gray scales
tip the board on over.

who’s all in? we’re cut of the same wood,
carvings from the marble, have you lost you footing now?
one step from another, momentum understood.
who’s move? it’s mine. offensive designed
relentlessly after you.

be brave now.
slave your way to the front of the pack
to take the crown.
let’s take the rest of them down.
and at last, half mast our heads are hung,
funeral hymns sung for those forgotten.

stop crawling
through all your moves and all your steps.
a victim of the classes
while the higher line wept away.

decisive, the timing.
i’m climbing out of molds
derisively chiming
while i watch the lines fold.
they crumble like ruins
ancient. dying. old.
the pawns stand

be brave now.
slave your way to the front of the pack
to take the crown.
let’s take the rest of them down.
and at last, half mast our heads are hung,
funeral hymns sung for those forgotten.
on being a supergiant in a galaxy of red dwarves

i know the sun is always down
in your part of the world
and it seems so dark
when the atoms start their advance,
hang on and don’t let go.
just give me a chance.
just give me a head start.
maybe we can be the only ones standing
taking the stars apart.

absurd, the solar system is black
from your part of the earth,
in the furthest depths
when the cosmos chart their attack.
head down and don’t look back.
just give me an answer.
give me a code to crack.
maybe we can be the only ones spanning
the visible scars of zodiacs.

you’re out of orbit so focus on the light.
back and forth it’s swinging,
pendulum rays bring
photographs of safe things.
you say you’re past the point of no return.
and i can’t help but sternly disagree.
we are all just lonely.

you know the sun is always weak
in your view of the world.
eclipsing the heart,
the shadows menacing dance.
tell the moon to relax.
just give her the message.
just remember you’re on track.
maybe you can be the only one standing
breaking the stars to shards.


and after the sunset,
the colors come fading into darkness
and we come alive.
the marks are mapped and there to find
the two of us escaping
the throws of the city life.
let’s leave it all behind.

who decides when our time ends?

and should the sun rise,
the buildings breathing life again
as they begin to come alive.
the stars are cracked. the horizon split
the two of us, expansive,
the difference between day and night.
let’s leave without a sign.

who decides when our time ends?

can we circumvent the feeling
of the vicious and twisted sun?
stopping for nothing,
we’ve only just begun.

we’re out of the glow
of the town, we were dying.
we were stuck on slow mode
and it fades while we’re now sleeping in.
let’s lay in the snow.
in the mountains, we’re hiding.
let’s take in the trees,
seizing quiet moments, we’re free.

if somehow the moon dies,
the forest changes back to gray, we witness
our lungs’ slow demise.
the chest is black and there to find
the two of us exhausted,
breathing the city lights,
let’s go where night shines.
who decides when our time ends?
lost & foundry

we decay,
locking minds with rotten sidewalks
with penetrating eyes.
their condescending cries
being carried by the freeway.
with no emotion to convey.

we’re betrayed.
conversations lined in white chalk
to the coroner’s surprise.
we more or less deny
that we are breathing clichés
over thinking, over played.

can’t sleep,
can’t talk.
our tongues cut out
at the stalk
concrete mocking our simple names.
isolation is a silent game.

we relay
lines with undermining sidewalks
full of uncomforting lies,
we’re abandoning our ties.
now we’re married to what we say.
cement never swayed
only refurbished
or repaved.
ready to wear you down
and shave off the years
in paragraphs of skin.
i call her calypso

another dismal tale
but buoyed by her words.
the ship was sinking.
no coastline. no birds.
it was an s.o.s., oh yes,
what a mess was made.
the waves cascading.

remembering to take full lungs of air,
repairing damaged arteries.
reversing any catastrophic distance.
thanks for saving me.

the elements are something fierce without you
floating in my arms. we’re out of harm’s way.
we’re rolling onto the break in the shore
ignoring coral swords and their defensive melee.

another broken sail
but carried by her hands.
the sea was feeding.
no seagulls. no land.
it was an s.o.s., oh yes,
distressed telegraph portrayed
while the waves are saying

harrowing statements from the depths,
swept away by the breeze
narrowing any chances for salvation.
i was waiting for you to save me.

when the glass shatters,
your name will be the first that i call to
come down. what matters
to each other, we’re trusting it all.
when the dust scatters,
even the ocean floor seems so calm.
death from cloud patterns,
even then, no need for alarm.

tell them i said we will go straight to hell

and with every word i find
my lungs collapsing
gasping for air
as we stare each other down.
we are cringing at the sound of each other’s voices.
you sing in the key of chalkboard nails rejoicing.

and in every verb that binds,
our brains amassing
as we drive each other mad.
we are screaming at the sound of each others voices
i am a memory
like old souls are voicing.

there in every blurring line,
our hearts relapsing.
i will see you underground.
we are seizing at the sound of other’s voices.
we have no point,
we are line segments disjointed.

sleep well. tell them
i said we will go straight to hell tonight,
with nothing inside,
and with no end in sight.
be still as we are watching
from another dirty windowsill tonight.
when the coldest hearts are crippled

renting a vacant stare.
pupils black
but there’s nothing there.
we miss understanding.
we are standing under unfair skies.
our souls gone,
please hold onto me
and we will defeat the silence,
inviting violet rays.
let’s run away.

there are few of you
who will truly love tonight
when everything is all said and done.
we’ve been numb for so long.
savoring forever comatose,
the taste of days.
and i pray you feel me now
because for once, i am feeling you.

our hands were an empty prayer,
hearts were black
but now something’s there.
broken lips not withstanding,
we were standing with impaired ties.
i was so wrong.
it was pulling on me,
the sense of defeat, the mindless
imbibing the silent days.
let’s run away.

paper rock scissors

his toes are perched at the edge.
remember to breathe now
rather than hold it all in.
look me straight in the pupils,
tell me you want to die.
and i may slip silently away.

which way to go:
is it the chopping block or the arsenic?
is it the shotgun or the candlestick?
is it the dagger or cliff diving in your car?
which way to go?

we burned the bridge at the ends.
remember to blink now
and stop staring at where you’ve been.
read me so loud and clearly,
i’ll tell you i want to die
but i survive and only stay.

which way to go:
is it the bathtub, blender, and a magazine?
is it a book of matches, can of kerosene?
is it the bottle and prescription jars?
which way to go?
don’t go.
is it a pint glass drowning in gasoline?
is it a slip knot tied around a rafter beam?
is it asphyxiation in the garage?
which way to go?
don’t go.

so close, we lurk at the ledge.
remember to think now.
it’s patience is wearing thin.
stare me straight in the pupils
tell you we all want to die
but before let’s make them pay.

which way to go?
is it a baseball bat or is it a ton of bricks?
is it disembowelment with a crucifix?
is it razor blade wrists underneath the stars?
which way to go?
don’t go.

icarus crashing

if i should fall, call the ocean.
she’ll catch me
as i try not to plummet down
because i’m leaving it all
in the hands of those that surround me
saying stay close to the ground.

i am sitting on a fence
somewhere between past and present tenses,
i’m so damn apprehensive
to decide which side should find my
landing right as i come
tumbling down from
vindictive clouds tonight.

still i will try, sky wide open
we’ll just see
how high i can make it now.
i told you i’d fly
despite everything you’ve ingrained in me
saying i’d stay close to the ground.

i don't count sheep, i merely slaughter them

so many mornings i
wake to you, having
never actually slept
at your side. and
each night
gradually grows
and gets
these nights nearly
infinite as they progress,
i digress and press
early alarm clocks
to end depressing sleep.
i don't count sheep,
i merely slaughter them.

ugly ways to say pretty things: harsh realities in flowery language

his lips singed and stung,
charcoal black and burnt
from kissing the sun,
a poisonous nectar
overgrown in vectors of space.
his face red like roses
and he poses the same questions
he damn well
already knows the answers to
but refuses to believe anyway.
his value peaked and tainted
with skin painted the color
of fields of reckless
petals as sharp as thorns,
leaving his universe torn
like swarms of locust
focused and hellbent,
intent on destruction.
sleep is a double edged axe with a horrible sense of telling time

we meet more
often than she
could ever know.
every thirty,
minutes or so
i see her.
those first
minutes or so,
things are sweet,
serene in whatever
my unconscious
has set.
those moments i
would last for
in fourteen,
minutes or so,
everything i know
will come to
an end.
in ten,
minutes or so,
she'll be gone
and i'm on my
own to defend
against the
fall on the blade.
in five,
minutes or so,
i will have prayed
times or so
minute or so.
in sixty
seconds or so,
i will beg to be awake
drenched in sweat
and the threat
of closing my eyes
once more.
but then i remember,
how nice
minutes or so
are at first
and i search
my pillow for her,
she's found
minutes or so.
and that right there
is heaven.
lightning bolts and rattlesnakes

what could they possibly have
in common you ask? well,
both are so well ingrained
on the underside of my
eyelids on dark, restless
nights, their electric venom,
vessels destined to drive me
mad; an unimaginable dark
desert deserted with no
discernible lines except those
jagged and rough squiggles
cutting through the blackened
sky. i would invite them to
bite me already, but my
fingers trace the wounds, all
blooming rapidly and numerous.
please stars, let me sleep.
an insomniac’s prayer for cindy williams

there she sat,
alone at a table,
eyes old and black
but swollen red
and the tales they told,
the things they said
were jarring.
send her back
from whence she came.
from lone star states
where i dwell
in shallow states of sleep.
that place
like nocturnal swords
forged in
perforated slumber.
the thunder howls
through empty skies
as her eyes return us
both to a land
i'll never understand
and pray i can escape,
to a land
she desperately plans to

oh, but how
i do not want to be here
any longer.
with grace

Geological Dissertation

dear planet,

i write this to you with nothing
but an open heart
an open mind.

for so long you've sent shivers down my spine,
tremors along vertebrae,
aftershocks in the stomach,
nervous system an unsteady fault line.

no longer am i timid
in my shell,
hiding from your cruelties
and sometimes
cold and indifferent persona.
i've been to hell and back,
falling through the cracks
you've created in me.
still i am standing
your full attention
as i face you
with my entirety.

bring it.
i am now ready,
steady footed
and armed to the teeth.
disbelief suspended
and prepared to
hold the plates together.